I have always had a problem with metaphors. I think in metaphors as if they’re my first language.
Sometimes I say unusual things, because I’m speaking metaphorically. And then I get weird looks and I have to translate what I meant. But it’s hard to find other words.
I always want to say, “Well, that metaphor really was what I meant. I don’t know how you say it in plain language.”
I sound like a foreigner.
Today, I had a conversation with two women about how I have experienced emotional resilience in grad school.
I said, “They told me it would be game night, so I brought Scrabble. But then I showed up, and I realized they meant ice hockey.”
The women shot each other quick glances. Then they looked back at me, tilted their heads to the side, and smiled.
Tumbleweeds rolled by.